


Don’t Get Used To It

by margotwrotethis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Airplane Sex, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bottom Keith (Voltron), Experienced Keith, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hung Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Top Lance (Voltron), Virgin Lance (Voltron), okay there’s a smidge of plot, why is that not a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margotwrotethis/pseuds/margotwrotethis
Summary: When Keith is hired as Mr. McClain’s personal assistant, it becomes clear that the job is primarily keeping his wild card son Lance in check. And Lance’s favorite pastime just so happens to be pushing Keith’s every button. So when Lance suggests Keith needs to get laid, Keith fires right back with a suggestion that crosses the threshold of the unknown for the two of them.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 122





	Don’t Get Used To It

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is inspired by an anon who posted on the curious cat account belonging to spankedkeith! It works as a one shot but I think I want to develop it into maybe a few more chapters bc I'm all about that pining. Also I present some character traits of Lance’s that could be touched on more bc I don’t want to present him as just a bratty rich boy. That would be an insult to Lance. One thing I’m not gonna do is go into depth about what Lance’s dad does bc I do not care enough about mega corporations. Also this lil story is pretty much just about the connection between Keith and Lance, so there won’t be much detail on the contexts. Anyway I hope you enjoy!

Keith doesn’t get paid enough to do this shit.

Well, that’s actually not true.

He’s paid well.  Very well. But this isn’t what he imagined he’d be doing when he walked into the interview. But truthfully...as the interview went on, it had become glaringly obvious this is _exactly_ the kind of shit he would have to deal with regularly.

Mr. McClain had been quite blunt with his questions and observations.

“You strike me as a ‘bad cop’ type.”

“You’re about my son’s age, right?”

“Have you ever detained anyone before?”

Mr. McClain had been abundantly clear: being his personal assistant more or less meant babysitting his son. Keith hadn’t cared too much for the concept of acting as babysitter to a 21 year old douchebag in order to keep up his millionaire father’s public image, but he needed the job. The gallery had closed, commissions had been thinning out, and Aspen is  _expensive_. He can suck it up for the paycheck. Temporarily. Just until he’s back on his feet.

He knows this job will be a pain in the ass, despite the benefits, the control he’s given of the schedule, the fact that he only has to answer to one person, and of course, the pay. So he allows himself the comfort of the thought.

He doesn’t get paid enough to do this shit.

His brain repeats the mantra over and over as he shoves his way between the hot and humid drunk bodies at this Columbia frat house, toward the break in the crowd. Toward the ring of spectators cheering shrill whoops and whistles at its center. Toward the keg, and the young man suspended upside down above it, drinking straight from the pump with the showmanship of an Olympic gymnast.

Lance fucking McClain.

The current bane of Keith’s existence.

He rocks down from his gaudy handstand on the keg and throws his arms in the air - like an Olympic gymnast - as the drunken crowd roars with approval. Keith watches as he soaks up the applause, hands clenching into victorious fists, vintage t-shirt falling back to its full length - a DIY crop at his natural waistline, revealing smooth bronze skin painting the tapered form of a swimmer’s physique. 

Keith’s nose scrunches, as though to reprimand himself. Lance is a beautiful man, there is no question about it. Keith had admitted that to himself right away in the beginning, despite his prior knowledge of how much of a nuisance the young McClain is. 

But Keith has to reprimand himself, because Lance isn’t just objectively attractive. He has an air about him. He’s alluring in the way of easy confidence; he knows he looks good, but in a self loving, self accepting way, rather than in arrogance. Keith would think the opposite to be true given...well, everything else, but the way Lance carries himself just makes it comfortable to be around him. Like he’s  _the guy_ , someone everyone could easily be friends with. Until he opens his mouth. But that’s not necessary to appreciate his actual physical build. Captain of the swim team in high school, now playing intramural soccer when he has the time...it shows in his form.Broad shoulders, long, toned arms, wiry muscle shaping a taut stomach, v lines carving down his hips, disappearing beneath the waistband of his faded jeans-

Keith catches himself just as Lance halts. Their eyes meet, and Lance’s form instantly slumps with the annoyed huff of a petulant child. He knows  exactly what Keith’s presence means by now. It almost amuses Keith, the way his shoulders sag and his lips turn down in a pout, if he weren’t currently squished between a couple furiously making out and some arm flailing douche who has no grasp on personal space.

Defeated, Lance trudges over to Keith.

“Don’t make a scene,” he snips over the blaring music, arms crossing.

“That’s on you,” Keith retorts, “let’s go,  now , and I won’t have to.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “God, you’re such a fucking narc...”

“Jesus Christ,” Keith huffs, gripping Lance’s arm and tugging him back through the humid, bumbling crowd. Lance follows with no resistance, wrist still held fast in Keith’s grasp. It’s a far cry from Keith’s first Lance retrieval one month prior. A black out drunk Lance had given him a black eye and sprained his own wrist in the process.

The coiled humidity of the air seems to sigh open as they break through the edge of the crowd, just feet from the front door. Good. This is going better than anticipated. Small blessings. Keith lets his shoulders lose their tension, just a touch.

The universe must decide that’s the perfect moment to fuck with him, because his balance is suddenly thrown as Lance’s arm rips itself from his grip.

_ Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me . _

Keith whips around, fully prepared to knock Lance out cold if he has to. He does not 

have the patience for Lance’s usual antics today. He’s smart, annoyingly so for such a douchey brat. He would probably try to pull shit like this, get Keith’s guard down, then take him by surprise and escape. Send him on a wild fucking goose chase. Because in the month Keith has been in the McClain employ, he’s learned several things about Lance. But only three matter.

First, he is the most stubborn little shit that has ever existed. He will go head to head with anyone on anything, just to stir the pot. He will stick to a losing argument out of spite. And he does it more with Keith than anyone else in his life, easily.

Second, he’s brilliant. Much smarter than he acts. His admittance to Columbia might have something to do with his name and the amount his father is willing to donate, but he deserves his place at that school. He can talk about the physics of a neuron star like he’s summarizing his favorite book.

And third, he will go out of his way, every chance he gets, to get Keith on the verge of snapping. Keith can’t tell quite tell if this is for his own amusement, or some ploy to get Keith fired, or to indirectly send a message to his father, but regardless, it’s a losing situation for Keith.

Because if Keith lacks one thing in particular, it’s patience.

So no one can really blame Keith when he whips around, arms raised in anticipation of an offensive move, a string of expletives just nanoseconds from bursting past his lips. But the words die on his tongue, because...there’s Lance. Awkwardly bent over, elbow deep in a haphazard mountain of coats and scarves that had long since fallen off the thrift store chair meant to house them. It’s only a few seconds before he retrieves an old, washed out army jacket that’s definitely older than both of them. It’s wrinkled from its place in the pile, but Lance tugs it onto his shoulders without complaint before turning back to Keith. His neutral expression shifts to one of confusion, then a beat later, amusement, eyebrows knitting and softening expressively.

“What?” Keith snaps.

“You totally thought I was gonna run,” Lance leers.

Keith lets out an exasperated sigh. “Let’s go.”

“Have a little faith, Kogane!”

“With you? Unlikely.”

Lance hums disapprovingly as they step out to the crisp air of the autumn evening.

The ride to the small, private airport just outside Manhattan only serves to stretch Keith’s patience even thinner.

“Hey, can we stop for coffee?” Lance calls up to the driver from his position in the back seat, slumped lazily with his legs spread wide enough to knee into Keith’s personal space. 

“Lance, stop,” Keith responds, shoving Lance’s knee back into his own space. He’s just trying to throw off the schedule. Out of spite. Nothing new. Still just as agitating, though.

“Have I ever asked you who put a stick up your ass?” Lance ponders with a tilt of his head.

“Every time we speak, will you -  stop -“

Keith interrupts himself as he scrambles toward Lance, who is leaning forward and reaching for the car’s alcohol stash. Keith’s hands close around Lance’s wrists just as the cart drawer opens, and yanks them both back into their seats. Lance huffs and makes a half-assed attempt to pull himself free of Keith’s grip, to no avail.

“You’re needed at 5:00 am, no more drinking.”

“5:00 am  _mountain time_ , and I’m not even drunk!”

This much is true. Lance has a frighteningly high tolerance for alcohol. Beer doesn’t do much to him, but liquor, liquor like the expensive scotch he had just been reaching for, that could lead down a headache of a road.

“Your father asked me to deliver you cleaned up and well rested, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“ Narc. ”

Keith rolls his eyes. Lance mercifully spends the rest of the short ride mostly preoccupied with his phone, only nudging his knees back into Keith’s space repeatedly. Keith can deal with that. It’s probably the best case scenario.

But it’s not meant to last.

They board Mr. McClain’s private jet amicably enough. Keith still isn’t used to this part of the job. He doesn’t think he ever will be. He doesn’t understand the need for private jets. They’re objectively nice, yes, and they may be convenient, but that doesn’t change their sheer gaudiness in his eyes. And despite the fact that this jet is a small one, the cabin still feels like far too large a space to be shared by him and Lance. Alone.

_ Ding _ .

The plane straightens as Keith unbuckles his seatbelt and stands. Lance remains slouched in his seat across the aisle, idly playing a game on his phone. 

Keith crosses the cabin, to the cushioned bench seat neighboring the lavatory, where a garment bag drapes over a small, neatly packed weekend sack for Lance. Keith hangs the garment bag from the overhead hook before unzipping it to examine the pressed suit contained within. It’s a grey, satiny material, clean but not stiff. A royal blue tie loops neatly around the hanger. It’s a good choice, Keith thinks. Blue suits Lance. 

Satisfied that the suit is wrinkle free, Keith zips it back up before inspecting the weekend bag. Heathered grey joggers, a Patagonia sweatshirt, a change of boxers and socks, and a leather toiletries bag, nearly full to bursting.

Keith swears he’s never met another person who invested so much in their skincare routine.

He carefully removes the sweats and the toiletries bag, and turns back toward the front of the cabin.

Lance has risen from his seat. And located the minibar.

“You’ve  gotta be kidding me,” Keith huffs, charging forward as Lance raises a crystal bottle of dark, translucent liquid to his lips. The sweats and bag land haphazardly in Lance’s seat as Keith continues his surge forward, both hands going for Lance’s face.

Only a few drops have passed Lance’s lips when Keith’s right hand closes around the bottle’s neck, his left gripping Lance by the chin.

“Stop it, Lance.”

“Jesus fuck,” Lance jerks back, wrenching his face from Keith’s grip. “Don’t have to get so physical about it. It’s not like I can go anywhere anyway.”

“This flight only lasts a few hours, you need that time to rest.”

“I don’t even do anything. I just sit there.”

“I know,” Keith pinches the bridge of his nose. “But your father needs you presentable. This conference is important for the business, and he needs the family. A united front or however he described it.”

It’s quiet for a beat, only the vacuum hum of the cabin to accompany the atmosphere. He feels Lance’s eyes on him, and glances up. The boy in question is watching him with the most smug, amused grin, bottom lip pulled between his teeth to contain a laugh at Keith’s expense, wide blue eyes bright with chaos. Keith suddenly feels...so naked.

“What?”

“Keith, my good buddy,” Lance drops his head to huff a low chuckle. Then he’s back, looking Keith dead in the eye. “You need to get laid.”

What.

“ _What_ ?”

“You are wound tighter than a coil, dude. When was the last time you got laid?”

“What...the fuck?” Keith’s mouth struggles to catch up with his brain, which struggles to keep up with...well, with Lance.

“That mullet can’t be a big draw for the ladies, no offense. Maybe get a haircut.”

Don’t do it.

“I don’t...”

No.

“I not...trying to attract women.”

God damn it.

Why does he feel the need to defend himself? This is how Lance  _is_ , a button pusher. He just provokes Keith to provide himself with a modicum of entertainment. Keith owes him not one iota of personal information.

But for the first time since Keith has met him, Lance looks...thrown off.

His eyes are wide, vulnerable almost, eyebrows raised and slanted up gently, jaw slack with a loss for words.

He looks...he looks like he’s been  struck by Keith’s confession.

It makes Keith’s insides twist in a quickly mounting anxiety.

“ _What _ ?”

“You’re gay?” Lance’s voice is soft, timid even.

“Yeah, is that a problem?” Keith can’t bring himself to feel any guilt over the sharpness in his voice.

“No,” Lance responds in a near whisper. Then louder, more panicked, as if Keith’s implications just hit him, “no, no, not at all! I’m bi!”

Now Keith is speechless.

Not because Lance’s sexuality is a surprise to him. It really isn’t. But he’s so tired of putting up with Lance, he’s worked so much agitation to the brim, just on the verge of snapping, fully prepared to go into defense mode against another tirade of homophobia. That energy doesn’t just...dissipate. Not for Keith.

So they stare at each other, one face full of soft, apologetic surprise, the other forcing a scowl to stay in place.

It’s too much.

Keith wishes Lance would just say something, something to break this sliver of clarity within this haze of weirdness they stumbled into. What the fuck does Lance even think he’s doing? Why is he suddenly so soft? What the fuck are those eyes? Like they’re trying to comfort him from a respectful distance? What is that??

“M-maybe  you should get laid!” Keith blurts, mouth unplugged from his brain and attached to a desperate desire to end this silence.

Lance’s mouth hangs open, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What...?”

Well...no backpedaling this one.

“You! Get laid!” Keith snaps defiantly. “Then maybe you wouldn’t be such an insufferable ass.”

The furrow in Lance’s brow shifts from confusion to anger.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Are you serious?”

“Why would you say that to a person?”

Oh no. _Oh_ _no_.

“You...oh you’ve  got to be kidding me.” Keith runs a hand over his face.

“What?!”

“That is  exactly what you said to me two seconds ago!” His hands fly into the air in exasperation.

“...yeah-“

“So don’t go there!”

“Well yeah, but-“

“But what, Lance? I know everything has come easily to you, but that doesn’t mean you’re exempt from taking the exact shit you dish out.”

“I’ve never had sex , Keith!”

The barrage of criticisms don’t die on Keith’s tongue, they evaporate completely. He...it’s none of his business. But Lance always struck him as...no, it’s none of his business.

It’s just that he’s so...he’s so  suave,  and confident, and beautiful...he’s...he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s the exact type of guy Keith expected would pick someone up every time he went out. The second time Keith was sent to fetch Lance, he found him in the bathroom of a house party, sucking face with a girl half his height, his hand up her shirt and groping. Keith was 100% convinced he had become the epitome of a cockblock in that moment.

“You’ve...never...”

“Yeah! Not that it’s any of your business,” Lance’s arms raise in an exasperated shrug, then fall to his sides with a thud.

“I’m sorry-“

“I mean you’re right,” Lance continues, pacing, hands gesticulating. “It would probably be nice. Probably calm me down. For a bit. Ya know, enough.”

“Lance-“

“But like...I’ve just...I’ve never done it! Yeah! I’m not clueless, I’ve done _stuff_ before, but like...I can’t even - I don’t have anyone to do it with!” Lance stops, and looks at Keith, letting out an anxious, nervous little laugh as though it might save face in this moment of unwanted vulnerability and discomfort. “I mean,  heh , what? What, am I gonna fuck  _you_?”

Keith’s eyes go wide. He...was not expecting that. Well, Lance isn’t actually suggesting they fuck. He’s just throwing out hypotheticals in a desperate attempt to escape his very obvious mortification. And Keith’s been quiet for too long now. He can see it in Lance’s eyes, the way they shimmer with unease, the inclination to run, run away, he’s gonna start babbling again-

“Okay.”

Lance’s jaw drops just a fraction, and that expression of soft shock is painting his face once again.

“What?” He asks in the smallest voice possible.

“We can fuck.” Keith responds immediately, even as some part of his brain he’s not listening to demands to know what the fuck he’s doing.

Lance takes one step closer to Keith, eyes squinting and head craning forward to inspect Keith, as though he could visibly detect falsehood among his features. Keith merely stares back, tracking Lance’s eyes as they rove over his face. Finally, Lance draws back, eyes narrowed in skepticism. He purses his lips.

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No. You said I need to get laid too, and uh, you’re kinda right.”

That all too familiar smirk unfurls.

“Am I now?”

“Shut up,” Keith frowns. “Look, we don’t have to. But if you want to, I’m just...I’m putting it out there. For now.”

“No I...I want to,” Lance’s smirk disappears and that soft expression returns. But there’s no surprise etched into his forehead, no shock glossing his eyes. It’s a gentle glow of...shy admiration? Lance won’t break eye contact, and his eyes are  so full and so tentative, and his lips are curved into the subtlest smile. It’s almost coy. Keith’s breath seems to momentarily seize in his chest.

He takes a step toward Lance.

“Yeah?” He breathes.

Lance’s freckled cheeks take on a rosy hue.

“Yeah.”

Oh.

His voice can sound like that.

They’re gonna fuck.

Keith steps in close, close enough to notice Lance is actually the tiniest bit taller than him. Close enough to count those freckles. Deep blue eyes are still tracking his every little motion. A breath hitches in anticipation. Keith raises a hand to cup Lance’s cheek, stilling a just hair above the warm skin.

“Is this okay?” Keith asks.

Lance sighs impatiently, chipping a large crack in his nerves.

“ Yes , Keith, will you please just-“

Keith’s lips land on Lance’s teeth first.

Maybe not the best idea to interrupt him with a kiss. It doesn’t take Lance long to catch up though; large, slender hands coming up to cage Keith’s face, the awkward press of teeth replaced with the plush movement of soft,  soft lips.

This first kiss is long, slow, tentative. It’s a moment of adjustment, of memorization. It’s like the clench of a fist, the hold, before the hand opens and releases, muscles relaxing.

They pull back, slowly, eliciting a small wet smack with their parting. Keith hovers, eyes closed, as Lance’s warm breath fans over his lips. He wants to lean back in, but he should really give Lance a chance to set the pace.

Then Lance is surging forward and pressing their lips together again, this time harder, a little deeper. Lance’s fingers begin to dig pleasantly into Keith’s scalp, drawing them against one another even more. Keith leans into it and finds his lower lip being pulled between Lance’s, followed by the practiced swipe of his tongue. Their mouths slide open lazily, tongues mingling as though they’ve done this a million times before, together.

Keith allows his hands to slide down Lance’s neck, over his shoulders, his chest, to finally bunch the fabric of that vintage jacket in his hands. Lance’s fingers weave deeper into Keith’s hair. They tighten and pull  just so , forcing Keith’s head to tilt. Lance’s tongue swipes deeper, and the sting against his scalp, that  control , it awakens some hot, rolling pressure in his lower abdomen. He moans into Lance’s mouth. It’s small, quiet, but it’s enough to egg Lance on.

His hands fly to Keith’s hips, gripping tightly, before pulling them flush against his own. Keith gasps, overwhelmed by the sudden friction, and Lance’s fingers press harder.

Keith wraps his own arm around Lance’s torso and squeezes, as if he could pull them impossibly closer together. The other finds itself landing on Lance’s bicep, hidden beneath the thick canvas of this old jacket.

It has to go.

Keith grips the opening of the jacket and begins yanking it over Lance’s shoulders, down his arms, fumbling as they move toward the same goal with no rhythm, only a steadily rising heat within.

The jacket crumples to the ground at Lance’s feet and Keith replaces his hands on the warm skin of Lance’s exposed abdomen. This time it’s Lance’s turn to gasp, hips twitching forward, hands flying to Keith’s ass and landing with a muffled  slap .

Keith moans wantonly into Lance’s mouth this time.

Lance smirks against his lips before pulling back just enough to talk.

“You like that, huh?” His voice is low and husky, a far cry from its usual high timbre. It goes straight to Keith’s groin.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles as he takes Lance’s bottom lip between his teeth. His fingers press into Lance’s skin, finding tight, hard muscle beneath. It’s so  warm . He allows his hands to work their way up Lance’s sides, around to his toned back, up the front of his shirt and over his chest, fingers raking all over his skin.

“Mmm,” Lance hums lasciviously, fingers and palms kneading Keith’s ass. “You’re wearing so many clothes...”

Keith hums in agreement against his lips, and begins pushing them back, back, back, until Lance’s knees hit the edge of a seat. He releases his grip on Keith and drops into the seat with a little bounce. Keith is in his lap in an instant, thighs straddling Lance’s hips, grinding down against the rapidly stiffening bulge in his jeans. 

He leans away from Lance to discard his own jacket, then to pull the nicest sweater he owns over his head, leaving his torso bare. Lance’s hands are back on Keith’s ass in the blink of an eye, gripping and kneading as he leans forward to lick a line up Keith’s chest.

Keith gasps at the sudden wet warmth, hands going to Lance’s shoulders to steady himself.

A muffled slap hits his backside. Keith groans behind clenched teeth.

“Jesus,” Lance mumbles, “your  _ass_ , dude...”

_Slap_.

Keith grinds down against the rather large bulge, hands reaching for the button on Lance’s jeans. It’s an awkward and counterintuitive fumble of climbing off Lance’s lap and tugging the slim fitting jeans to his ankles, finding shoes still on, and removing everything from there. But once Keith has discarded his own shoes, pants, and boxers, he stands, completely naked and ready to go, only to pause at the sight of Lance.

He’s slumped just a bit in the seat, arms draped over the armrests, legs spread comfortably. He’s wearing only that crop top now, and he’s...so fucking hung. Like...startlingly so. Of the many things Keith hadn’t expected of Lance today, this is maybe at the top of the list. He realizes he’s been staring when Lance shifts a bit, legs closing just a touch, and his eyes leap to Lance’s face. His eyes are big and tentative, face coloring in a shy blush as Keith stares, and Keith has to remind himself that Lance has never done this before.

“Sorry,” Keith shakes his head. “I just wasn’t exactly expecting you to be...that big.”

Lance smirks, though the look in his eyes remain. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna hop on it?” Lance grips the base of his cock, eyebrows lifting suggestively. There he is.

Keith sighs.

“In a bit.”

He drops to his knees in between Lance’s thighs and ducks his head down, licking him from base to tip.

“Fuck,” Lance gasps, thighs tensing.

Keith hums and wraps his hand around the base of Lance’s cock, angling it toward his mouth. The tip is wet with precum, beading enticingly out of that little slit. He leans down and sucks it into his mouth, slowly, as Lance shivers and sighs above him. Keith works his way as far down as he can. He stills, taking a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of Lance, on top of the length he can’t fit. The weight of him feels good on Keith’s tongue. It’s been a little while since he’s done this, he forgot just how nice it feels to be  filled . 

Oh.

That goes right to Keith’s dick. His mind latches on to the memory of being filled in a different way, pairs it with this new knowledge of how thick and long Lance is, and clouds over any doubt or apprehension that may still reside within him.

He sets a fast, choking pace on Lance without warning, and it has Lance audibly moaning and swearing, hands flying into Keith’s hair to grip, to pull, which only eggs Keith on further.

“Keith -  hah \- stop, stop-“

Keith pulls off of Lance with a pop and glances up at him through half-lidded eyes, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to Lance’s dick.

“ _Holy fuck_ ,” Lance breathes at the sight. “You gotta stop, I’m not gonna last. I wanna be in you like, yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Keith’s voice is hoarse and raspy, “okay.”

He rises to his feet and Lance yanks him forward, lining Keith up as he angles his cock toward-

“Lance!” Keith pushes himself off. “You can’t just go in dry!”

Lance looks at him for a beat, the his face blooms with understanding and he releases his hold on Keith.

“Right. Sorry.”

“I actually don’t think I have lube on me,” Keith realizes with a pang of disappointment. “Or a condom.”

“Oh, why not?”

“I wasn’t planning on fucking you, Lance,” Keith deadpans.

“Hmm,” Lance’s brow furrows, like he’s trying to remember something. “Can you use oil? There should be some coconut in my bag.”

Keith ponders this for a minute. He knows it’s safe, it just never occurred to him to use oil before.

“Yeah, that’ll work.” Keith considers. “But the condom...”

“Are you clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t mind.”

“Are  _you_ clean?”

“Keith, I’m a virgin.”

“But you’ve ‘done stuff.’”

“Yeah, but nothing that would...”

“Okay, okay.” Keith rises from Lance’s lap to retrieve the toiletries bag he’s dropped a few rows back.

The first thing Lance does upon Keith’s return is smack his ass. Keith jumps a bit, dropping the bag between Lance’s legs.

“It’s so fucking  _nice_ , dude,” Lance explains, palm smoothing over the reddening shape of a hand. “I’ve always thought so.”

Keith huffs a laugh as he straddles Lance again, this time elevated above him on his knees.

“Always, huh?”

“Yeah. It was one of the first things I noticed about you. Mullet and ass.”

“It’s not even a mullet,” Keith mumbles as he fishes a small container of coconut oil from within the bag.

“Close enough. I don’t even know how you pull it off.”

“Thanks,” Keith deadpans, fingers dipping into the waxy oil. It begins to melt as he rubs them together, the sweet aroma of coconut filling the air around them. Bracing his free hand on Lance’s shoulder, he reaches behind himself and sinks his index finger in with a sigh. It’s really been a while.

He begins to move his finger in and out, working against the tight muscle, kneading it into relaxation, breath hitching, until he’s ready to insert his middle finger. He pushes both fingers in to the knuckle, then slowly pushes them apart in a scissoring motion, working himself open and pliant with a moan.

Two hands land softly on his thighs. His eyes flutter open to find Lance beneath him, watching with an expression of absolute awe painted on his face. It’s...it’s so fucking cute and Keith hates it. It makes him feel seen in a way he doesn’t want to be, like Lance knows something about him he doesn’t even know yet.

“What?” He asks, a bit defensively.

“Nothing, you just...I really want to fuck you right now.”

Keith watches Lance for a moment, eyes mapping his every feature; the openness of his deep blue eyes, the freckles dotting his nose and cheeks, the slight part of his lips. He never knew Lance could look so...soft. He leans in and presses his lips to Lance’s in a chaste kiss.

The fingers stretching Keith open leave his entrance to scoop more coconut oil from the jar, cast into the neighboring seat. That thickly oiled hand grips Lance’s cock and gives it a few strokes. Lance gasps against Keith’s lips, and Keith pulls back.

“Ready?”

“ _God_ , yes.”

Keith chuckles as he lines Lance up. He shifts on his knees, and sinks down.

The head of Lance’s cock breaching Keith’s rim has him gasping, fingers digging into Lance’s shoulder. He pushes himself down, pushes Lance in deep, deeper and deeper, until Keith can feel the skin of Lance’s balls brushing against his stretched rim.

It burns. It burns in such a nauseatingly delicious way, something that’s too much, yet he desperately wants to chase.

It takes several seconds to even register the sting of Lance’s fingers into the skin of his hips.

Lance is panting small, staccato gasps, eyes closed  so tight, brows furrowed with tension, like he’s afraid to move.

“You okay?” Keith whispers, his own voice straining.

“ _Please,_ ” Lance begs, “please move.”

Keith exhales, presses another gentle kiss to Lance’s lips, and rises. The drag of Lance’s cock against his walls has him choking on a gasp, followed by a punched out whine when the ridge of its head catches on his rim.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance breathes, hands sliding over Keith’s hips to cup his ass.

Keith sinks back down. The sting of the stretch has dissipated, replaced by nothing but delicious heat. Keith sets a rhythm, relishing the way Lance’s moans are punched out with each thrust.

“Oh my  _god_ ,” Lance whines. “F-fuck,  _Keith_...”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes. He wants it to sound cool, in control. But Lance is so thick. Andhe is so tight. And the coconut oil smells so sweet and feels so warm and slick, making a lewd squelch with every bounce, and it’s all making him so dizzy with pleasure. Every inch of Lance’s cock dragging against him threatens to melt his spine and turn his insides to electrified velvet.

“You feel so fucking good,” Lance breathes, fingers working their way over Keith’s cheeks to his rim, where he can feel himself getting sucked in over and over and over.

Keith leans back, rolls his hips, and-

“Oh,  _fuck_ -“

The head of Lance’s cock sucker punches that tight bundle of nerves and sets them alight with a flurry of sparks. He can feel it in his throat, vibrating along the avenue of his spine.

It must show in his face, or in the way he throws his head back and sobs, because this is the exact moment Lance forgets he’s a rookie.

“ _Holy shit _ .”

Keith is only vaguely aware of Lance’s hands landing in an iron grip on his hips again, stilling his now sporadic movement. He barely registers the bruising ache of Lance’s thumbs pressing against his bones.

Clarity is quite literally punched back into him, however, when Lance begins thrusting up into him at a brutal pace. Each thrust pulls out a little further each time, the ridges of his head catching on the rim each time, drawing sounds out of Keith that sound less like moaning and more like wailing.

“F-fuck, right there-“

“God,  _yeah_...”

“I’m -  _ohhh_ , I’m-“

“You’re _so_ fucking  _hot_ -“

“Gonna come-“

“Oh _yeah_ -“

A voice-cracking cry is on the verge of breaking from Keith’s throat when he feels Lance jerk hard once, twice, followed by the unmistakable warmth of cum pumping deep inside him, pulsing right against his prostate.

“Oh... Lance,”  Keith gasps, shooting thick ribbons of cum over Lance’s stomach, some even splattering onto that cotton crop top. He shudders, clenching around Lance, whoget breathy, gripping Keith closer and tighter. His arms snake around Keith’s middle, pulling him flush against his own chest with a splat. He nuzzles his nose into Keith’s collarbone with a sigh, seemingly unperturbed by the mess he’s making.

“Lance,” Keith pants.

“No.”

“Lance let go, you’re getting us both sticky.”

“Noooooo!”

“Come on, you’ve gotta be tired now.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s get cleaned up then.”

“I don’t wanna move.”

“ _God_ you’re a baby,” Keith sighs. “I’ll get up, you stay right here.”

“But you’re so warm,” Lance pulls back to look at him, eyes glossy and pleading in the afterglow. “Let me hold you.”

“No,” Keith almost laughs, pulling himself from Lance’s grasp. He can feel every inch of Lance’s softening cock as it drags out of him, messy with cum. Lance actually has to steady him when he gets his feet on the ground.

“Keith,” Lance mumbles as Keith scoops up all their discarded clothes, then heads to Lance’s bag to search for a towel or wipes.

“Hmm?”

“That was amazing. Thanks.”

Keith drops the clothes into an empty seat, then glances at Lance. He’s watching Keith with a tender expression. There’s a sleepy haze clouding his eyes, but Keith sees an adoration in there. It scares him a bit. It’s that same look he gave him earlier, the one that made him feel so seen in a way that caught him off guard.

He smiles softly at Lance.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Lance chuckles and Keith’s smile deepens. Even though he doesn’t completely trust his own words.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I’m not sure what direction I want the story to go in. I know it’ll be short, pretty much PWP, and a lil fluffy. But we’ll see! Let me know what you think will happen!
> 
> Thank you for reading 🥰


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